


Better With Four

by idrilhadhafang



Series: A Different Galaxy [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Interquel, for octoberwriting challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilhadhafang/pseuds/idrilhadhafang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Love Don't Roam". Han Solo was a normal smuggler trying to keep his head down, so to speak, until a former Jedi and a former Sith came into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better With Four

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Love Don't Roam". Also had to take a bit of a poke at the "wizard" line from The Phantom Menace, because while I love the movie...well, we always poke fun at the things we love, don't we? :)

Han Solo typically wasn’t used to getting visitors down at the cantina.

If anything, at the very least, the visitors he mostly got happened to be smugglers trying to collect on their dues. It’s not like there was really much to do, especially considering that the cantina on Tatooine was not one of the more pleasant places to be. Hell, if anything, Mos Eisley was pretty much the furthest thing one could get from “pleasant” – filled with the scum of the galaxy, every bit of the scum of the galaxy that one had to offer.

And he wasn’t really used to striking up a conversation with other people either, especially when said conversation was mostly over people someone else loved, or anything of that sort. If anything, he usually preferred to keep himself to himself – unless, of course, he was being approached for some sort of mission or whatnot.

Everything pretty much changed when  _they_  walked into the bar.

If one was to come up to Han and say “one day, a former Jedi and a former Sith will visit this cantina” (or something along those lines), Han would have made some sort of comment about it sounding like the beginning of a bad joke.  _A former Jedi and a former Sith walk into a bar..._

And what did it matter anyway? The Jedi, the Sith, they were pretty much all the same. Force-users with too much power, squabbling over religion while the galaxy burned. It really didn’t mean a thing to Han. All this talk about the Force – if one had mentioned it to him before, he would have, quite honestly, laughed about it. There was no magical field of fate or whatnot controlling his destiny, and there never would be.

So in this smoky cantina, he sat, nursing a cup of juma, wishing in vain that he could file a complaint to the owner of the cantina playing that godsawful sappy jizz that was enough to make your ears bleed. Meanwhile, everyone else bustled about in the smoky, dark cantina, minding their own business...per usual, of course.

It was at the other table that he saw someone else – and somehow, the man there caught his eye in spite of everything. He was a relatively decent-looking man, somewhere in his mid-forties or something, but if anything, he looked like he had the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. He seemed to be deep in thought, almost as if remembering something.

It was enough to make Han wonder. At least, he could try and get a closer look at this man, see at the very least what he was so bummed about. Then again, Han doubted that it was much to really get bummed about, especially considering that the galaxy seemed to have gone insane. And that was probably putting it mildly, really.

It was then that someone else returned to the table that the man was sitting at. She wasn’t bad-looking either. Looked around the same age as the man, really – thick brown hair, rather small, dressed in heavy blue robes. She sat next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as if she’d known him for quite a while. “Are you all right?”

The man seemed to smile if only a bit; at least there was something about the woman at his side that seemed to reassure him if only a bit. “A little bit.” There was something about his voice, though, that told Han that that wasn’t the case.

The woman seemed to pick up on it. “And I’m guessing that ‘a little bit’ is...your way of saying ‘really not all right at all’?”

The man seemed almost relieved that the woman hadn’t said what she was about to say – before she’d stopped herself, of course. Han guessed that they had something to hide – and he guessed that he should probably go up to the bar with Chewie and get a few drinks or something, and yet something in him told him that he had to stay. It wasn’t like he could look away, really. There was something about the pair that was almost striking. Tall man versus honestly quite small young woman – it was a study in contrast right there.

“One could say,” the man said. He seemed almost distracted, really, almost as if he found the patrons in the bar inexplicably fascinating. Or... “I used to come here, you know. With Kitster and the others.”

“Used to?” The woman looked perplexed. “But you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” the man said. “But it’s not really the same, if you get what I mean.” He paused, before groaning and rubbing his temples. “I swear to the Emperor himself if they don’t stop playing this awful jizz...”

_Ah. Something we can agree on._ Han didn’t know why the owner of the cantina kept playing that junk; he could only conclude that the owner had some sort of twisted soft spot for it. Or was playing it to annoy almost everyone here. Pity that Ackmena wasn’t there; she could typically help liven things up a bit. The other owner, though? Han never really met the man (or woman, or what have you), but he always got the image of some cranky old man (or woman, or alien) trying to drive out the whippersnappers by playing sappy, sentimental jizz until your ears bled.

The woman laughed. “We could always write to the owner of the cantina,” she said, almost teasingly, “Tell him to stop playing that – ’’

“Good luck with that.” Han spoke before he could really stop himself, before the arguably more rational part of him that said,  _For kark’s sake, just go up to the bar with Chewie and have a few drinks and don’t most likely annoy the new patrons in the cantina unless you want to walk away missing a few teeth_  could really kick into action. The newcomers turned to look at him in surprise, but they didn’t seem to be really disturbed, per se. If anything, they seemed curious.

So either they were really friendly, or they were really stanging lonely. Han could only bank on the latter.  _Boy...those poor bastards. They need some help_.

Han continued speaking, if only because it was the best he could really do now. “I think the owner of the cantina has a soft spot for that junk. It’s what he does."

Silence. The woman seemed to smile a bit, as if to say,  _Yeah, I know what you mean_.

“So,” Han said, “What are you two doing out on a night like this?” It was such a clichéd line, most likely popping up in some sort of noirish (for lack of a better word) holofilms and everything, but at the same time, he had to know. At least, he had to have some sort of conversation – after all, Chewie was off at the bar, and it wasn’t like Han himself had anything to do.

“Oh,” the man said, in a tone that was more wannabe casual than anything else; it gave the feeling to Han like he was trying to cover something up more than anything else. Which only made Han wonder what in the stang he was trying to hide. “I mean...I used to go up here when I was a kid. Friends and everything, at least when I had time off.”

_Ah. Some sort of local._ That only made Han even more curious. “Time off?”

“Well,” the man said, “I used to work.” He seemed to realize – or at least think, or something – how bad it sounded, because he tried almost immediately to backpedal on the matter. “Don’t worry,” he said, “My master wasn’t...that bad. A bit cranky, really, but...really nice when you got to know him.”

_Wait, wait, back the stang up. Master?_ Han supposed it was best not to press the matter, though. After all, he would prefer, at the very least, to walk away with some semblance of teeth by the end of this conversation, friendly as the others were. After all, no sense in really pissing them off, really.

So instead, he tried to laugh (at least, he laughed a sort of semblance of a laugh) and said, “Really?”

“Yeah,” the man said, with a slightly wry smile – slightly wry, slightly sad. “I know it sounds a bit weird.”

_You don’t say._ Han thought.  _You don’t say._

“So,” Han said, “You’re just going up here –’’

The man nodded. He suddenly seemed to change in terms of expressions, especially as the music started to change. An old song from Tatooine, no doubt some sort of half-space shanty, half-love song. At least, that was a good change of pace from everything else. At least Han thought so.

The man, on the other hand, seemed to think otherwise. If anything, he looked on the brink of tears. The woman seemed to notice. “Anakin,” she said, “It’s all right. Trust me.”

_Wait. You’ve got to be kidding me, right?_ “Wait,” Han said, “ _The_ Anakin?”

“There’s a lot of Anakins,” the woman said, but Han could tell that she was trying too hard to make some sort of a saving throw, and that she didn’t mean that. It wasn’t like they had to worry or anything. He had no love for the Empire. Ever since he had seen what they did to nonhumans and what they did to traitors of the Empire (having them rounded up in some sorts of camps), it was the sign that he quite honestly didn’t want to be there. So he had, with Chewie, fled the Academy and taken up a hobby of smuggling, at least for himself. It wasn’t exactly something that was thought very highly of, but hey – had to do  _something_  to keep bread on the table, really.

“Ah. Okay.” Han had to suppress a sigh; this wasn’t really the typical company that one had, if one was to be perfectly honest. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone.” And that wasn’t just a promise, but a fact. The day he would rat anyone out to the Empire...well, that would be an interesting day. But that wouldn’t happen. Not on his watch, really.

“Well,” Anakin said, “That’s good.” At least some of his anxiety seemed to let up. He seemed thoughtful now, almost distant – Han could swear that he was staring off into the distance, listening to the Bith musicians and the singer go crazy now – at least, go crazy at a speed that was guaranteed to make you dizzy if you weren’t careful.

“Are you okay?” Han asked, almost in spite of himself. “You don’t look too good.”

“Nothing, nothing.” But Anakin seemed to not really believe it himself. If anything, he seemed to be deep in thought now, listening to the song – even closing his eyes as if to being lost in it. It was enough to make Han, at least slightly, irritated.

“You don’t look like ‘nothing’ is on your mind, if you get my meaning.” He was probably being more than a bit irritating now, but Han didn’t care. At this point, he just wanted to _know_  what in the hell was keeping this kid down. Why this kid seemed to act like –

Anakin opened his eyes, looking just as irritated, and even defensive. It was enough to make Han almost regret it. “Well,” the kid snapped, “If you want to know...there was someone I loved but she’s gone now.”

_That_  was enough to make Han feel even guiltier than he did already. “I’m sorry.” Han couldn’t say that he remembered many lost loves from his lifetime – there was the matter of Bria Tharen, but then again, it was more of them being mistaken for dating than anything else – but this kid...well, that explained a lot. And if some of the guilt was connected to this shoddy little cantina...well, damn. That was the best way he could put it, really.  _Damn_.

“Don’t be,” Anakin said, but he sounded a bit too much like he was just trying to shrug it off. Not exactly very convincing in that department, Han thought. Kid wore his emotions like a Holonet banner – even in his forties, Han could only imagine there was some trace of the kid he used to be. The most that Han had really heard of him were the occasional moments of having to save him and General Kenobi’s cargo holds during the Clone Wars, at least back in those times (not that they really learned his name. I mean, were names really relevant there, at least at times?). But other than that...he couldn’t really say where he was during the Clone Wars. Everything was a sort of blur.

And honestly, what did it matter? He was Han Solo. He simply happened. He couldn’t really be boiled down to a set of influences and the past and all that gobbledygook.

Still, from what he had seen of General Skywalker, the kid used to be pretty idealistic. Maybe a bit arguably insane – but then again, a lot of the great men were insane on some level. Otherwise, how else would they get their dreams of greatness pulled off? At least it was one part of Han’s philosophy.  _Never tell me the odds_. It was something that got him through the tough situations.

A sort of mantra for survival.  _Never tell me the odds._ After all, defying the odds – that was a staple of greatness if he’d ever seen one. And that was a fact. No, not just a fact – it was who he was.

“It happens to everyone,” Anakin said, no doubt still trying to keep up the whole “could be worse” sort of bantha crap that Han was never able to buy for a split second. Unfortunately, sometimes you had to really wear that when you were on the run. Otherwise, you’d just end up completely breaking down at the absurdity of it all.

Anakin sighed now. “I just wish I’d told her...oh, does it matter?”

_Unrequited then? Damn_. “What was she like? That woman?”

“A good woman,” Anakin said, “One of the best I’ve ever known.” There seemed to be something about the woman’s hand on his shoulder that seemed to cheer him up if only slightly. Even in between the talk of his unrequited love, the one who got away, so to speak, Han couldn’t notice something about them that he hadn’t noticed at first. Perhaps it was just the matter of the cantina and everything else, but they were sitting a bit closer than most people would sit.

Maybe he was just reading too much into things, though. And he probably had to stop. After all, he’d probably done enough.

In the end, he mostly closed things off with a simple “I can imagine” before calling for Chewie to sit with them, as well as ordering drinks for the four of them. They’d need it.

Nobody deserved to sit alone, especially on nights like this. Nights like this...they were better with four, really.

It was minutes later that Chewie sat with Han, along with Anakin and the woman (Padmè, Han had learned. A former Sith and a former Jedi in a bar with him. Definitely one of the most interesting nights he’d ever had, and that was probably an understatement), and some mugs of juma juice with them as well.

“The Empire?” Han said, if only sarcastically.

“The Empire.” Anakin and Padmè echoed his sarcastic statement, before clinking their mugs together and drinking.

Perhaps, Han thought, times were pretty bad. But at least they could have some fun flipping off the Empire while they were at it.

***

From that point on, of course, they kept coming to the cantina. Whenever they could, of course. Whenever they weren’t off doing what they were doing, they would come to the cantina if only to have a few chats, share a few drinks, share some news about the death toll that they had heard.

Han couldn’t help but notice that Anakin always had that sort of guilt in his eyes, like for some reason, he thought that the deaths of all these Jedi were his fault. But that was a ridiculous thought. After all, he wasn’t the one who led the stormtroopers in a massacre. He wasn’t the one who did all these horrible things.

Still, Anakin didn’t seem to believe it. “I had a feeling that Obi-Wan was in trouble. After my Padawan...” He trailed off, seeming almost deep in thought now, remembering. Padmè placed a hand on his shoulder once again; even now, Han couldn’t help but notice how close they were sitting. Then again, he supposed it was none of his business. And yet at the same time...

“What do you mean?” Han said.

Anakin sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Sorry,” Han said, almost in spite of himself. “Do you want to change the subject?”

“No, it’s all right.” Anakin sounded a bit too much like he was forcing it, though. As if he was trying to tell Han it was no big deal when anyone with ears could tell that it was far from “no big deal”. “It’s just,” Anakin said, “I don’t think I’ve had much time to talk about it, really.”

“That’s not really true.” Padmè, this time. “I mean, you’ve got me.”

“Yeah.” Anakin seemed to be listening to the new, catchy beat that Ackmena was playing right now. “Yeah,” he said, smiling a bit now. “I’ve got you.” He turned back to Han. “But let’s say that there was this battle – it was back when Darth Maul and Savage Oppress were back from the dead, and Obi-Wan...you’re going to have to bear with me on this, because after the death of his Master...he wasn’t exactly the same. And the thought that the killer of his Master came back from the dead – ’’

Han snorted. “People can’t come back from the dead, kid.”

“I know.” Anakin smiled if only a bit wryly. More tired, really. “I know it sounds like I’ve probably been watching too many horror holofilms. But it happened.”

“So did the Sith just gather in a circle and start chanting something to raise the dead?”

“No.” Padmè, this time, although the twitching corners of her mouth gave it away if only slightly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say  _you_  were the one watching too many horror holofilms.”

The three of them laughed almost in spite of themselves. Then Anakin grew more serious.

“Maul’s Master,” Anakin said, “Must have found him at one point, and with the help of the Nightsisters, helped put him back together. He wasn’t really the same as before, though, what with having a metal...bottom half.”

“So he was sliced in half?”

Anakin nodded.

Han laughed. “You can’t put other people back together from being sliced in half.”

“Well, apparently,” Padmè said, wryly, “You can.”

“So, Padmè,” Han said, “Where were you in all of this?”

Silence.

“I was off...making my own luck, as you would say.” Padmè sighed. “Let’s say that after I realized what Sidious was doing, I wanted no part of it. I essentially looked at what he and Dooku were doing and said, ‘No more’.”

“Good decision,” Han said, remembering back when he was in the Academy. Perhaps he and the girl had more in common than he could have imagined. Then he paused. “How did he not catch you?”

“I had my ways,” Padmè said, “That and he didn’t really care about me, per se. I was as expendable as the next apprentice. What he really wanted was...” She faltered. “Well, it was Obi-Wan.”

_Wait._ “You’re serious?”

“I am,” Padmè said, “But it’s best you keep it down. I really doubt the Empire would want to overhear us.”

“The Empire isn’t  _here_ ,” Han said. “It’s not like they have any jurisdiction on Tatooine.” A pause. “Well, at least not much.”

“Well, whatever jurisdiction they have,” Padmè said, “It’s probably best not to shout it to anyone else in the cantina.”

“I won’t,” Han said. “Trust me on this.”

Padmè grinned. “Of course we do. We’re merely making sure.”

Pause.

“So anyway,” Han said, “What about your Master and his desire for revenge?”

“He wanted,” Anakin said, “To go after Maul. Not just because of his desire to put some ghosts to rest, but also because he feared that Maul was going to hurt more innocent people if he was allowed to roam free.” He faltered. “I really should have heeded the warning signs back there, but...” He sighed. “Qui-Gon meant just as much to me, and I didn’t understand why the Council seemed to be...overlooking Maul as a threat.”

Han snorted. “I’m not surprised. They really didn’t get it back then.”

“Well,” Anakin said, “I think they were doing the best they could considering the circumstances – ’’

“Circumstances, shmircumstances,” Han said. “I think they were focused more on petty border disputes and whatnot than actually helping those in need. Least from what I saw.”

Anakin seemed thoughtful, if only for a moment. Then, “I suppose it is true. After all, they seemed to be more of the Republic’s attack rancors than anything else by the time the Clone Wars ended. But...” He took a deep breath, rubbing his temples wearily. “I still wish it didn’t have to end this way is all.”

“Like I said, kid, not your fault.”

“Maybe,” Anakin said, smiling if only slightly, “But I wish I’d been there to save them. And Obi-Wan, for that matter. I wish I’d been there to save them from themselves.”

***

Han couldn’t say that he knew when they came back to the cantina. Probably a few years or so. Even so, neither Padmè nor Anakin looked like they had aged a day. What had changed, though, was that they had brought a friend with them. Actually, two. One was a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in clothing that was pretty Alderaanian in terms of look and style, and the other was a boy with reddish hair and blue eyes who looked like he worked on a moisture farm almost all of his life.

Anakin had told Han about it, on one of his visits to the cantina.  _“Jinn’s going to have to face his destiny one day,” he said, “Him and Kaida both, whether they like it or not.”_

_Han snorted. “Destiny? Honestly, Anakin – I think that people make their own destiny. There’s no destiny anyone has to face, whatever people say.”_

_“I’m not saying that I agree,” Anakin said, “But at least...” He sighed. “Master Yoda says so. I don’t like the idea of them having to go up against their own father, but at the same time...”_

_“It’s a Jedi thing?” Han said._

_“Maybe a bit.” Anakin blearily rubbed his temples. “It doesn’t really mean that I have to like it, but it’s not like I have any other choice in the matter.”_

_Han was almost relieved, in that very moment, that he didn’t have to become a Jedi. Or more specifically, that he wasn’t a Jedi. He couldn’t imagine some mystical field that bound everything (or so Anakin claimed – he had once joked to Anakin that if outsiders heard their conversations, they would assume that they were crazy. He could only assume that the “mistaken for crazy” had saved them. Either that, or the stormtroopers weren’t as present on Tatooine as they’d like to be) controlling his destiny and forcing him (at the risk of a pun) to fight one of his best friends. Even that idea was horrifying._

_Han Solo valued nothing better than loyalty. And that was true even here. Even the idea of having to go against one of his best friends – Lando, for example – was something that he hoped that he wouldn’t have to face someday._

_He could only hope that he could introduce both Padmè and Anakin to Lando someday. They would probably like him; after all, Anakin did like the sort of people who could stand up to the Empire and make a better planet for other people. And then again – who wouldn’t like Lando Calrissian?_

_Except the Empire, but it wasn’t like their opinion counted. They mostly disliked Lando because of how outspoken he was against them, and they didn’t like people standing up to them. That was the way it was with most dictatorships. They didn’t like people standing up to them._

_At least, if things like Tarkin dropping his fancy-schmancy Star Destroyer on a bunch of innocent people was anything to go by. The more he heard about what the Empire was doing (destroying planets, for example, with that fancy shmancy Death Star thing), the more he was glad that he had left the Empire when he had gotten the chance._

_If only other people could. If only they weren’t so damn scared of Acheron and the Emperor – or Obi-Wan, really; stang, even the idea of Obi-Wan Kenobi, hero of the Clone Wars, being Acheron was almost too much. He was almost surprised that the Emperor was so hell bent on keeping it a secret; one would think that the Emperor would be smug enough to flaunt Acheron’s true identity to the public – that they couldn’t bear the idea of standing up to them._

_Then again, people liked the idea of the status quo. People liked other people telling them how to live their lives. Perhaps not everyone, but from what Han had seen of the galaxy, there were actually some who thought that the Empire was doing the right thing. Never mind what the Empire had done. Committing genocide, for one thing. Denying nonhumans their rights; Han doubted that he would have run so far away from the Imperial Academy if the Empire was genuinely trying to do the right thing, and wasn’t mistreating other species seemingly for the hell of it. If that had been the case..._

_Then again, Han couldn’t picture himself still being in the Empire after everything that he had seen. He couldn’t picture himself being in the Empire, doing all the things that everyone else in the Empire was doing. Everything that the Emperor wanted them to do. The Emperor, sitting on his throne like some black ghost, telling everyone how to live their lives. Darth Acheron at his side, telling other people how to live their lives if only through Force. “Subscribe to our way of thinking or we’ll haul you off to some work camp to spend the rest of your miserable life!” Han had managed to avoid them so far; smuggling work was at least one way to avoid all that crap. Han had learned to live by his wits; one had to rely on one’s intelligence out in the wild, or you wouldn’t really live very long. You had to think fast and on your feet, with no time for second thought._

_Which, in hindsight, was probably one thing that had gotten himself in trouble with Jabba the Hutt._

Now, even meeting Jinn and Kaida, Han couldn’t help but feel a sense of misgivings. They seemed like nice enough people at the very least, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but worry. Were they up to the challenge? He didn’t care what the Order probably thought; this atmosphere, honestly, was no place for naïve kids.

And he sure as hell didn’t want to think of a bunch of innocent kids being turned into weapons. Even if it was to take down Acheron and the Emperor. Sometimes he doubted that he could understand what the Order was thinking at all.

Then again, that was probably for the best.

“You’re probably going to have to pay ten thousand credits for the trip to Alderaan,” Han said.

The kids, of course, didn’t seem to be happy about that. At least, not too much. Kaida seemed to be trying to be the diplomatic one. “No offense, Captain – ’’

“Just call me Han.”

“Right. Thank you. No offense, Han,” Kaida said; there was something in her that seemed to flinch a bit at saying the word “Han”, almost as if she was worried about violating diplomacy – Han could only conclude that she had been trained in the practice almost all her life, “But that’s an awful lot of credits to pay for just one trip to Alderaan. I mean...we could buy our own ship for that.”

“I know,” Han said, “But it’s not exactly like I have a choice.”

“Wait,” Anakin said, “Hold on – Han, what do you mean?”

“Well,” Han said, “I think it’s best that we talk about this somewhere else.”

After leaving Chewie to guard the kids, Han walked away with Anakin and Padmè to a darker, more secluded corner of the cantina. He sighed. “I really don’t know how to break it to you guys,” Han said, “But I’m sort of in trouble.”

“Is it the sort of Imperial trouble,” Padmè said, “Or something else?”

“Smuggling trouble. Don’t worry. The Imps haven’t caught up to me yet.” Han tried to laugh. “I mean...I don’t think my race is quite run yet, to quote the classics.”

“I doubt it is,” Padmè said. “So what is it?”

“Well, I was on a smuggling mission, and I was being chased by Imperials – ’’

“Wait, wait.” Anakin held up his hands. “Han – I thought you said you didn’t have any Imperial trouble.”

“I didn’t say they  _caught_  me. Anyway,” Han said, “I had to think on my feet, so I had to drop the shipment from the  _Falcon_. Managed to jump to hyperspace in time – I’m thinking the Imps thought that if they didn’t catch the person carrying the goods, they could just settle for the goods. So I dodged a blaster bolt, one could say.”

“Then why do you say you’re in trouble?”

Han sighed. “Jabba’s practically having vine cat kittens over the fact I dropped a shipment. He says that I have to get ten thousand credits for him, or I’m going to be...well, not in a good place, one could say.”

“Wait,” Anakin said, “We don’t even have those. I mean...I’m really sorry that you’re in a bad spot, Han, but I don’t think we have the credits.”

Han sighed. “Great.”

“Maybe once we reach Alderaan,” Anakin said, “We could find a way to pay off your smuggling debts. I mean...I’m sure that Bail Organa’s going to pay you a pretty handsome reward.”

Han snorted. “For delivering these poor kids?”

“Well,” Anakin said, “Not just that. Let’s say the situation’s a bit more complicated than you’ve imagined.”

Han snorted. “I can imagine quite a bit.”

“Well,” Anakin said, “They’re actually carrying the plans for the Death Star.” Even speaking, he sounded so excited – Han could imagine that more excited side of Anakin back in the Clone Wars, coming up with some sort of zany scheme that would somehow thwart the Separatists. If he had been fighting alongside the Jedi, or if he were a Jedi fighting alongside the clones or whatnot, Han could at least imagine himself in that situation. The one who came up with all the zany schemes. That was another thing that one had to do as a smuggler, at least: think up the zany schemes. Think up the things that could get your goods to its desired destination in one piece without getting caught. It was really only trouble when you got caught, and Han Solo doubted that he was planning on getting caught any time soon.

And from what he heard in regards to the Rebellion so far...they weren’t intent on getting caught any time soon. Even now, Han couldn’t help but admire them, if only slightly. He was preferring to stay on the more neutral side of the conflict – honestly, after all that trouble in the Imperial Academy, it was probably best that he kept his head down. Took on a few suitable aliases, just to save his neck – but he couldn’t help but admire them, even now. Because even though they no doubt knew that they were outnumbered and outclassed, a small force going up against a stanging juggernaut, including an instrument of destruction that could take out planets with a blast, they kept on fighting. Because they knew that they weren’t giving up any time soon.

They were going to save the galaxy.

And for that, Han guessed there was something admirable about that. Fighting against the Empire – anyone who didn’t really like the Empire was, honestly, pretty damn good in his holobook. At least...maybe there was something in it for him. Being able to fight against the Empire and, hopefully, be able to pay off his smuggling debt, assuming that Jabba wasn’t going to get impatient and order his men to blast Han to smithereens.

But then again, Han wasn’t planning on getting blasted by any of Jabba’s Gamorrean-brained goons any time soon. After all, he still had a hell of a lot of fight in him yet to go. He wasn’t planning on meeting his end underneath the end of, say, Greedo’s blaster.

“The plans for the Death Star, huh? That’s...pretty damn impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” Anakin said, grinning. “I mean...they’re just...oh... _wizard_ , really!”

Han couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Where have you been, old man? Nobody says ‘wizard’ anymore.”

Anakin chuckled. “I must be really old now. I mean...when I was a kid, they used to say that almost all the time.”

“Not any more, old man.”

“All right,” Anakin said, “What would you prefer? I mean...I definitely know someone who would prefer the word... _indomitable_ , really.”

“Not bad. Better than ‘wizard’ at any rate.”

They laughed, almost in spite of themselves. It was one of those moments, Han thought, that, for some reason, made him feel a little better, at the very least. Perhaps it was the fact that they could pretend, just for a moment, that everything was all right. That the Empire hadn’t taken over, that their lives weren’t in danger, and for a moment, they could just be themselves. Have a bit of a laugh, one could say, even though their lives were probably in danger, and these kids, these innocent kids, would have to someday go up against their father.

It was one of those moments that Han was glad that he wasn’t a Jedi. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to go up against someone he cared about. Granted, his own father hadn’t really been around for him – he’d walked out when Han was just a kid, leaving his poor mother grieving and alone. It was something that Han doubted that he could ever really forgive his father for, no matter what.

“So anyway,” Han said, “What about the Death Star plans?”  
  
“Well,” Anakin said, “Senator Leia Organa thinks that they may provide the hint to destroying the thing before it destroys any more planets.”

“Awesome,” Han said, “But...why couldn’t Leia deliver the plans herself?”

Anakin looked uncomfortable now.

“Go on,” Han said, “Say it.”

Anakin sighed. “Leia’s been captured by Imperial forces. According to Kaida, she very narrowly escaped in time.”

Han raised an eyebrow. “Well, good on that poor girl.” He’d heard about what the Imperials did to those they considered “traitors”, and it wasn’t pleasant. “Is there any chance that we’re getting the Senator out of trouble then? I mean...before she’s shipped off to certain doom?”

“Well, yes,” Anakin said, “But the problem is, we don’t really know where she is.” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “I really don’t like the idea of not being able to save her.”

“Neither do I, Anakin,” Padmè said, “But I don’t think that we can fail to deliver the Death Star plans either.”

“So that’s the situation we’re in,” Anakin said, “I mean...” He smiled, if weakly. “I know you’re mostly trying to keep your head down, Han,” he said, “But it doesn’t have to be that way. It can just be an errand, if you like.”

Silence.

“Well,” Han said, “I’m probably going to have to think on the whole ‘joining the Rebellion’ thing. I mean – I am trying to keep a low profile – ’’

“If the Empire wins,” Padmè said, “I don’t think that’s going to be a possibility anymore. I mean...they are going to come after you, Han. I really think. And I doubt that we can keep a low profile either. I mean...if there’s ever a time, it’s definitely now.”

Silence. Padmè did make a good point, Han had to admit, and even seeing the sheer sadness in her eyes – that girl really did care about the cause. Whatever she had done in the past, she was trying to make amends. He wasn’t sure how well she could, considering the Imperials were so goddamn determined, and yet...

“You two...” Han shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re brilliant, crazy, or both...but okay.”

Padmè grinned. It wasn't a bad smile, Han thought; she was a pretty girl already, but there was something about that smile that could instantly win someone else over. Anakin too seemed to smile, if only slightly.

“Don’t get too excited, you two,” Han said, “I’m just doing this as a favor. And I’m not in this for the revolution; I’m hoping that I can at least pay off my gambling debts before Jabba decides I’ve outlived my usefulness and spaces me.”

“That won’t happen,” Anakin said. “I promise.”

“Well, thanks.”

Anakin stiffened suddenly. Padmè too.

“What is it?” Han asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Kaida and Jinn are in trouble,” Anakin said. “Follow me.”

Han sighed even as he followed them to Chewie and the kids fighting off a mass of stormtroopers. It looked like his days of trying to keep a low profile were over. And yet at the same time...if it meant he could do something right – well, he’d try and do it, no matter what.


End file.
